


A play that you have not rehearsed

by Moonshape



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Grace Petrie, Morning After, No Lesbians Die, Nobody knows I'm a fraud, Puzzle Solving, Queers in Space, Songfic, The start of something, at least I think it's a songfic, minimal smut which is rather off brand for me, that annoying feeling when you wake up with half a tune in your head, what even is a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshape/pseuds/Moonshape
Summary: "There may not be Romulan conspiracies here but her mind is hard-wired to solve puzzles and find answers and always has been."Trek, meet Grace Petrie AKA What happens when two of my favourite things combine in my brain.
Relationships: Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	A play that you have not rehearsed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Regionalpancake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regionalpancake/gifts).



> I am bestowing this little fic on Regionalpancake who has been extremely kind over the last little while with responses to comments, and general all-around loveliness. Also as a reward for *immediately* wanting to hear this song AND spontaneously synchronising which my brain on the lyrics of importance. AWESOME 🖖🏻
> 
> The song Raffi can't shift is "Nobody knows I'm a fraud" by the *always* spectacular Grace Petrie. DO give it (and all her music) a listen if you don't know it. Queer, political folk is LIFE.
> 
> And, hey....I know I am a massive sucker for J/7 but.....I can't always stay in my lane. That would be no fun at all, would it? 😋

Raffi wakes up with it already in her head; the lingering hint of a melody loitering right at the edge of her consciousness. Just out of reach - like an itch that she can’t quite manage to scratch. There are words too, but they won’t come, not even to the tip of her tongue. The image - even the briefed thought of the image -  _ tip, tongue _ \- catapults her mind into a flashback so explicitly delicious she licks her lips without thinking, a knot forming low in her stomach. She hopes - prays to things she doesn’t even believe in - that this was the first night of many. The first night of...more.

Even so, there is  _ something _ in this inkling of a song that her mind just keeps snagging on. A repetition, a rhythm.  _ Some day.....some days.....some days.  _ There may not be Romulan conspiracies here but her mind is hard-wired to solve puzzles and find answers and always has been. Her right hand is tapping out the syllables of half-remembered lyrics on the bed before she even knows it. The sheet is warm under her fingertips now but she remembers vividly how cruelly cold it felt last night, creasing under her burning, clammy shoulder blades as she arched her back in pleasure again and again, and again.

She’s half-humming now, mouthing the parts she can remember vaguely, caught up in that familiar, fizzing spark of pieces starting to come together. And then, just like that, it’s there:

_......And some days I get so scared that we're losing _

_ And some days I'm just so sure we'll never win _

_ And some days I get so knackered from refusing _

_ To let that in...... _

They are words she used to experience almost physically; the familiarity of the feeling they expressed was what called her back to this song time and again after she first caught a snatch of it, entirely by accident. But the weight of fighting feels more abstract now - light and somehow far away, as though it belongs to someone else. She can barely believe she has covered so much distance in so little time. 

She had had to look it up, the archaic term she couldn’t quite place.  _ Knackered:  _ (1) broken  or too old  to use; (2) very tired ; (3) exhausted, especially after having vigorous sex. The third one, as of this morning, contains a whole new world of meaning and Raffi grins, closing her eyes at the pleasurable ache in her calve and thighs. Vigorous indeed.

“Raff,” a sleep-filled voice murmurs next to her, “you are gorgeous. And smart, and kind, and......spectacular in bed.” Certain her legs could easily survive another round, she hums in response to Seven’s words, inching closer. “And warm.” Lips reach up and claim hers and hot, possessive hands slip behind her neck. “But you are also singing.” The grin is sheepish now, but a confident, deeply aroused kind of sheepish. The kind that could steal the heart of an ex-Borg Fenris ranger from the Delta Quadrant, in less than a second. The kind that does. 

“Sorry, no more singing. Anyway, as you said yourself, my talents lie elsewhere.” And it’s as she trails her hand gently through Seven’s hair and presses their foreheads together that the rest of the words pour easily into the remaining gaps in the puzzle:

_.....Well some days life feels like a play that you have not rehearsed _

_ But one thing's true of all of us sharing this universe _

_ Is we could all be doing better and we could all be doing worse..... _

Sounds about right to Raffi.


End file.
